


I Went Into A House, And It Wasn’t A House.

by SailorFish



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bittersweet, Drabble, Gen, Home, Homelessness, Homesickness, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:03:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 4,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorFish/pseuds/SailorFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Home is where the heart is, but each Dwarf’s heart is different. A collection of recollections, based on the themes Home, Language, Tradition, Differences, and Memories.</p><p>Or, more plainly: An essay about migration and all the struggles (and not) that go with it, written in Dwarves. (Contains Khuzdul As A Second Language, de-anoned from the prompt meme.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ori: Conversations Above The Head

**Author's Note:**

> The Dwarf ages are based partially on the movie, partially on the book, and partially on ‘creative license’. The Dwarves born in Erebor are: Balin, Bifur, Dwalin, Oin, Thorin; the Dwarves born during the wandering period are: Bombur, Dori, Gloin, Nori; the Dwarves born in the Blue Mountains are: Bofur, Fili, Kili, Ori (with Bofur as a ‘teen’ when the others are kids, and Ori as the youngest).  
> The Dwarf ages I'm using are being converted by this website: http://axebow.lcwsites.net/archive/0/comparativeages.html  
>    
> The title of the story belongs to a silly little poem by A.A. Milne.

Ori doesn’t get it.

Neither do Fili or Kili, he knows, although they pretend that they do. And of course, neither does Gimli, but that doesn’t count because Gimli is 10, practically a baby. All Gimli knows is that when the adults are talking, sometimes their voices go quiet and hard, and at that time it’s good to not make any trouble, better yet to be as quiet as possible, and best of all to scamper.

Ori is almost 27 and thus too old to scamper, and he often envies, but doesn’t possess, the natural grace and fitting-in-everywhere-ness of the king’s nephews. So when, for celebration-days or for remembrance-days, the adults meet up, he’s forced to just sit there, looking at his plate or at his hands or simply at the ground.

All around him, the adults are talking, and sometimes even laughing and singing. But he can’t laugh and he can’t sing because he doesn’t know the people they’re talking about and he doesn’t know the lyrics or the melodies. And he definitely can’t talk because what if he says the wrong thing? And it will definitely be the wrong thing, because Ori doesn’t get it.

Kili said the wrong thing once, Ori still remembers that, and the silence afterwards had been terrible. More terrible than a shouting or a smack or a taking away of dessert.

No, Ori doesn’t want to say the wrong thing.

So he stares at his plate, and when the words _dragon_ and _Erebor_ and _Khazad-dûm_ start appearing in the adult’s conversations (and they always do), and the voices start become softer in volume and harder in tone (and they always do), he just stares more firmly.

He doesn’t get it, and he’s afraid to ask, because he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing.

So he pretends not to see it when the king murmurs to Dori _your youngest brother appears to be the quietest by far_ , and he pretends not to see Dori’s confused and helpless shrug in return ( _I don’t know what’s got into him; here I was afraid he’d make a huge mess!_ ).

No, Ori doesn’t get it, and when he hears the hardness and the brittleness in the adults’ voices, he’s not sure he wants to either.


	2. Fili: Khuzdul As A Second Language

Fili knows he has to learn this, has to learn this until he knows it perfectly. Can say things without stumbling over the unfamiliar syllables, can read things without his uncle sighing and his mother trying to hide a heartbroken smile. So he tries. He tries.

Every morning before the others awake, he repeats the words to himself, screwing his eyes tight in hope that this will loosen his tongue. He can say the words perfectly when he’s going slow and concentrating hard, but as soon as he speeds up the phrases, his accent slips through. Who would have ever imagined, a Dwarf with a Common-tongue accent!

Every night before he falls asleep, he takes out the thick tome. It’s his mother’s treasure (because everything saved from Before is a treasure), so he’s careful to put it back before dawn, before she notices. Anyway, he doesn't want anyone to know that it’s been taking him so long to go through this book, when it contains nothing deeper than adventure stories his mother enjoys.

Fili’s heard the adults talking; he knows that his uncle is unlikely to settle down, so one day it will be up to him to lead their people. It is for their sake that he tries, for their sake and for his uncle’s. After all, what Dwarf would follow a leader unable to even say proper greetings in Khuzdul, unable to even read short treatises in Khuzdul?

Speaking Khuzdul, reading Khuzdul.

No matter how long he practices, his tongue is lead-heavy in his mouth and the words just don’t stick in his head. He tries, he tries, but his tongue never rolls back far enough, his vowels are never rounded well enough, his mouth is never fast enough. He conjugates the verbs incorrectly, he uses the wrong tense, he forgets the proper honorifics. He tries, he tries, but it takes him hours to get through a chapter of his mother’s tome, a chapter he knows she finishes in minutes. He can manage Kili’s old children books just fine, but for more complicated things Common is just so much _easier_ (and he hates himself a little bit more for daring to think this).

Reading Khuzdul, speaking Khuzdul.

He tries, he tries. It should be like returning home, like standing under the sweet rain to wash away grime.

But it isn't.

Even his metaphors aren't Dwarvish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on my own experiences with Russian (reading) and English (speaking). I'm not a particularly creative person. xD


	3. Balin: Where The Wind Comes From

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is stolen from an A.A. Milne poem once again xD

Balin is old enough to remember living happily in the Lonely Mountain and Balin thinks he will continue living long enough to reminisce about living happily in the Blue Mountains too. He likes it here; he likes having land where he can dig his feet in solidly. One day, one day very soon, he will be able to call it _home_ without a flinch of hesitation (with a calm smile).

And soon enough, that day comes, and Balin is filled with a quiet wonder and a peaceful joy.

The next day, Thorin calls for them to go to Erebor.

And Balin answers, for kin and for duty and for honor, but inside, his tranquility is shattered. He used to call the Lonely Mountain _home_ and he can now call the Blue Mountains _home_ , but he is afraid that if he sets off on this quest, he will never be able to call either place (any place) _home_ again.

Years later, as he makes ready to set off towards Moria, he is proven right.


	4. Oin: Miss An Understanding

Oin smiles politely at the two young Humans standing in his shop. The young man is wandering around, examining the wares with an interested look on his face; the even younger woman (a sister?) approaches the Dwarf and returns an equally polite smile. Oin is always glad when it’s polite Humans in his shop: less chance that he’ll accidentally break his wares chasing them out.

“I would like an anti-fire-burn cream, please,” says the girl.

It’s an oft-requested ointment, and hence a bottle always stands on the counter, labelled _Anti-Fire, 35 Shk_. There’s no way she can miss it, so he continues smiling politely at the girl, waiting for her to move.

But she doesn’t. She just continues to smile back at him. The smiles are very, very polite on both sides. But she just doesn’t _act_ , so Oin’s smile becomes fixed, while the customer’s starts slipping off her face.

“Could I have an Anti-Fire, please..?” repeats the girl, this time more unsure.

And again Oin waits for her, but it seems to be a futile endeavour, because she just stares back at him. On both sides, there are no more smiles, only incomprehension and silence. An uncomfortable stillness.

Finally, they are saved by the young man (her brother?), who’s finished his inspection of the shop and wandered over. He blinks at the scene before him, but in his eyes, understanding dawns. He sidles over to the girl, and says to her, trying to be as quiet as possible: “He’s waiting for you to pay, first.”

The girl blushes a bit at that, but still shoots a slightly incredulous look at Oin, before digging into her purse for the money. When she resurfaces, the polite smile is back on her face. It’s mirrored once more by Oin, as he whips out the salve from the drawer right below the counter. He waits for her to count the money into his hands, then hands her the salve.

The two thank him and turn to leave. Behind them, the door slams shut, but through the open window he can nevertheless hear the girl beginning to explain: “I thought perhaps he didn’t speak Common, or that he thinks people don’t, I don’t know, _deserve_ Anti-Fire unless they’re being burnt by dragons, or, whatever, I don’t know, _anything_ , but never _that_...”

Either she trails off, or they’ve walked too far for Oin to hear what else is being said. Whatever the case, he can’t help the tiny twinge of shame. And then he feels furious at himself for feeling like this: it’s _correct_ to offer money and in _return_ receive a service, _that’s the way it’s done_. What does a child know about the world? How _dare_ she look at him as though _he_ ’s the one who doesn’t make sense!

But in the end, Oin just sighs. There’s no point in getting angry at an unknowing girl, not when there’s Humans being vicious on purpose. He smiles once more (and it’s only slightly bitter): telling Thorin and the others that his hearing is fading will be difficult; but on the bright side, he’ll have an excuse to rely on in future cultural clashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based off of something that happened to me actually. But I was the completely bewildered girl character hahaha xD


	5. Dwalin: Mirage

Dwalin misses the Lonely Mountain. He misses Erebor and its splendors with all his heart. He will admit this to anyone, willingly and without pretense. This is not why he follows Thorin (there are far deeper reasons than homesickness), but he’ll freely admit that this is why he supports Thorin’s quest.

What he won’t admit, even to himself, is this:

Dwalin misses something that does not exist and has never existed and will never exist again.

What Dwalin misses are colors far brighter than what the doors and roofs actually bore, what he misses are smells far more enticing than the food actually served, what he misses is music far more glorious than what was actually played.

His memories are clouded by long years of pain and grief and desperate killing and even more desperate survival. Erebor, seen by a youngster’s eyes, is remembered by a broken man in the same way a glass of water is remembered by those dying of thirst. The memory is a mirage, it is untrue, it is perfect.

To keep himself from falling apart, Dwalin has long forgotten the injustices (no matter how good their friendship, he and Thorin would never have seen each other as equal in Erebor), the inconveniences (a Dwarf had to line up in front of the store for a whole day to get apples and even then they were often full of worms), even the smallest blemishes (there was always a funny smell around the Grassmarket).

What Dwalin really misses isn’t Erebor. It’s being young, it’s careless days, it’s not knowing the things he now knows.

It’s being whole.


	6. Nori: Metaphors Up On The Stage

Nori flushes when he sees the play the Humans are performing. This play, it’s (supposedly) very funny, and thus currently popular in the village he’s staying at. A large crowd has already gathered in the garden of the inn where Nori’s eating dinner; they’re all eagerly watching the shortened version of the play being performed (the barkeep is very clever at attracting customers).

It’s about Dwarves.

Nori flushes in anger, because it’s about Dwarves tricking ‘honest Humans’ out of their ‘hard-earned money’ to sate their ‘gold-lust’, and Thorin and Dwalin and the others are _not_ like that. They’re brave, and honorable, and they would _never_ trick _anyone_ , and Nori wants to thrash all the actors as hard as he can. Just in case any of the audience, influenced by this garbage masquerading as a play, happens to come across the Dwarven heroes. Just in case, because of this trash, that Human dares to even _breathe_ suspiciously at Thorin and Dwalin and the others.

And Nori flushes again, this time in shame, because the others may be as likely to emulate the play as gold is to rust, but _Nori_ ’s paying for dinner with money found in someone else’s pockets just an hour ago. And in his case, _found in_ always means _stolen from_. So what right has he to complain? This song may be slanderous to _other_ Dwarves, but _Nori_ ’s lost the right to get angry about such matters a long time ago (the first time he and Dori were starving, and although Thorin had promised he’d check up on the orphans as soon as Spring came and the passes cleared, there was only enough money left to feed one, and while Nori had felt guilty the first few times, he stopped feeling guilty long before Spring came and Thorin arrived with supplies).

Nori decides he doesn’t want to eat anymore so he pulls on his cloak and leaves. He doesn’t bother paying for dinner.


	7. Bofur: Glances, Stares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter written a bit more informally than the characters should technically speak, but 'feeling' is more important than 'technicality' in this case I think.

Bofur sighs heavily.

“I just can’t stand it, you get it?” he says.

Kili looks up at him, face kind of blank, but still listening. That’s what Bofur likes about Kili. The brat may still be a brat, and not understand anything _ever_ , but at least he listens. And, being too young to understand much, doesn’t bother interrupting. It’s sad that Bofur is sitting on a bench, pouring out his woes to a kid who just learned how to shoot rabbits, but whatever. Blue Mountain-born have to stick together, right?

As if to prove how much of a brat he still is, Kili goes: “Nope. Don’t get it.”

The older (but not that much older) Dwarf sighs again. “Look here Kili, the problem is that these Humans, they always, well, _look_. No matter if I’m going to the baker’s or if I’m getting some water from the well, or, or, whatever. I can see how they observe others, Humans stare at each other too. But not like they stare at me. When, when... when I pass them by on the street, yeah? They just can’t. help. themselves!”

“But what’s so bad about being looked at?” Kili reminds Bofur that he’s young enough to wanna be the center of attention all the time.

“Yeah, but, it isn’t like the good type of staring! They stare at other Humans because they think they’re pretty, or because they’re carrying too many packages, or because they’re being too loud, or, or, whatever. But _me, me_ they stare at just because I _exist_! Like I’m a strange, unusual, creepy... THING. And I hate it, I hate it, I HATE IT.”

Bofur’s voice rises in volume. He doesn’t mean to shout, but he can’t help it. Can’t help his anger and shame and feeling that there’s something wrong with him whenever they stare. Still, Kili’s too young to get this kind of stuff, so he turns to the kid, ready to change to a lighter topic.

As he predicted, Kili’s staring. ...But it isn’t him Kili is staring at. Bofur follows Kili’s line of sight, turns his head to figure out who’s standing behind the bench. To see just who heard his shameful outburst. And it’s... oh. Oh crap.

Thorin Oakenshield is blinking down at him.

Bofur scrambles up from the bench. Chatting with Fili, playing with Kili, that’s one thing; they may be royalty but they’re still kids, just like him. But Thorin... his Da told him how much Thorin did for them all, how good he was to find them all a home here. How difficult it was. He doesn’t want to spit at all that effort, not when three of Ma’s fingers were chopped off by an Orc, not when Da’s leg is covered in burn wounds.

So he stands there, staring up at Thorin’s face, gulping, opening and closing his mouth again. He must look like a fish, but he just doesn’t know what to say. He can’t help the way he feels, but he knows how dumb and petty he must sound to someone who went through what Thorin went through. And he doesn’t know how to explain that without sounding even dumber.

Luckily, Thorin just gives him another (intense) (unreadable) (scary?) look, and, without saying anything, strides off. Kili grins up at Bofur, waves, and jumps off the bench to tag along after his uncle. Bofur can’t help sighing in relief that that’s the end of it. (But a little part of him still feels guilty that he couldn’t apologize to Thorin for his careless words.)

\--*--*--

The next day, Bofur is chopping wood when Kili skips by. The Dwarveling stops, waves wildly, and flourishes a badly wrapped package in Bofur’s face.

“This is for you!” Kili says.

Bofur unwraps it gingerly, afraid Kili has presented him with a very irritated hedgehog (again).

The present isn’t a hedgehog.

It’s a hat.

A huge, deformed monstrosity. When Bofur (immediately) puts it on, it slides down over his eyebrows and drowns his ears in fluff. It is a hat one can hide under. It is a hat Humans can stare at and gawk at and point at, all without ever noticing at the person underneath. The hat, its size and its appearance, all say to the world: _Until you can look me in the eyes, you can have something else to look at instead._

Though it was Kili who presented the gift, Bofur knows the brat is too dumb to come up with something like this by himself. Below the broad rims of the huge, deformed monstrosity, Bofur face splits into a wide, silly grin.


	8. Bombur: Foreign Spices

Bombur is born to nothing. He is born to an empty purse and an empty stomach and an empty house (because he doesn’t have a house, just a multitude of the smallest shacks the Men possess, where the Dwarves stop for one night only).

 _We didn’t bother to bring along anything from Erebor, in case it would weigh us down_ , his parents tell him. It is only later that he finds out it was less _didn’t bother to pack_ and more _fleeing for their lives_. Still, before their house had burned, there was one tiny thing his mother had managed to stuff down her pockets.

A jar of spices.

Not spices for meat (there is little enough of that anyway) and not spices for desserts (there is even less of that). No, the spices Bombur’s mother had taken along were the spices Dwarves knead into bread.

And thus, Bombur grows up loving bread.

When he’s been really, _really_ good, or when the family is entertaining important visitors (Thorin and his warriors check on each of their people), his father bakes a huge loaf. He puts in just enough spices to make it special. Bombur tastes it, savours it, treasures it. This bread is the only constant in his life, when everything else is ever-changing towns and ever-different people all whooshing by. Mother, father, and bread are the adolescent Bombur’s definition of _home_.

Finally, Thorin leads them to a new home in the Blue Mountains. It is nice; Bombur likes it there. He likes the fact that he has a full purse and a full stomach and a full house. But! with happiness, tragedy strikes as well: the spices run out just as they enter the range. In the Blue Mountains, there are no plants from which the same spices can be made.

Bombur keeps a tiny crust of bread left from that last loaf, long after it has gone stale and hard as granite. And when Thorin calls to reclaim Erebor, he answers: for duty, for kin, for honor; and also for bread, because without bread, _home_ still has no definition.


	9. Gloin: Mementoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter where 'feeling' is more important than dialogues staying in the same formal register as Tolkien's; be forewarned! XD   
>  Btw, does anybody know any 'official' sources of Dwarvish aging and stuff? The place I looked at before said Dwarves are considered mature at 40, but others say Gimli was 64 when the Quest was on and that's supposed to be our equivalent of 14. So I'm not sure what I'm supposed to trust. xD

Gloin shakes his head in despair. “Will you not at least try it on?!”

“No way!” his son sniffs, turning his head away. “You always said,” he tries for his best imitation of Gloin’s deep voice, “‘The best part of settling in the Blue Mountains is that we finally have enough money to afford new stuff.’”

“But this is not...” the father despairs at his son. “It is not about _having_ the best, it’s about remembering why we are able to _strive_ for the best in the first place! It’s about remembering our _roots_!”

Gimli crosses his arms, a stubbornness learnt from his father within him. “They’re not _my_ roots, they’re barely _your_ roots!”

And all the air goes out of Gloin.

“Fine,” he says curtly. He turns on his heel; carefully, he puts the belt (a belt passed on between all Dwarves, given to the youngest Dwarf in the community (girls for their 38th birthday and boys for their 42nd) and then held onto until the next Dwarf came of age; a belt just inherited from Ori; a belt going back all the way to Thorin’s 42nd birthday so many years ago) back on the mantlepiece.

Maybe one day Gimli will understand. Maybe one day he’ll wear it. Until that day, Gloin will keep the belt there as a reminder of the past, for when his son is ready to listen. (And maybe, just a tiny bit, as a reminder there also exists a future: a future where his son is able to decide for himself what is important.)

(And perhaps one day even do it without hurting others.)


	10. Bifur: Wind Up Toy

Bifur can remember the words and Bifur can understand the words and Bifur can sign back the words but Bifur cannot _say_ the words. And those Humans (those _awful Humans_ ) don’t understand him. They’re too _arrogant_ to imagine something like Iglishmêk exists and they’d be too _idiotic_ to learn it anyway. Bifur is sure of that. Bifur is also sure he’s being unreasonable, too harsh. And Bifur just. doesn’t. _care_.

He’s _tired_ of smiling and he’s _tired_ of nodding and he’s _tired_ of making a _fool_ of himself trying to get these _Humans_ to _understand_. He’s not a freak and he’s not a circus animal and he’s not there to perform the Wonderful Trick Called Communication (when he finally _can_ wave his arms wildly enough for them to understand), so that they can smile at him indulgently, as though he’s a particularly cleverly built automaton. He’s not.

When he’s with Balin and Dwalin and Oin and Thorin, he feels normal. They speak in Khuzdul and Erebor-slang and Iglishmêk (because Bifur can still pronounce Khuzdul, but it's just so much more _difficult_ ); they communicate fluidly and without hesitation. As though nothing’s happened. As though they’re still fighting their way through the Misty Mountains, killing every Orc they meet; and it’s important to keep quiet, but the dark is slowly driving them all crazy, and so to keep sane for just a little while longer they begin to favour Iglishmêk. (And Bifur knows it’s not healthy to constantly imagine reliving an old battle. And Bifur just. doesn’t. _care_.)

So maybe he talks too much when they meet up; far more than they remember him talking back when his brain still translated the words to his mouth fluently. But he just cannot stand _not_ talking to people when there’s finally someone who can understand him, he just cannot stand _smiling_ and _nodding_ any longer. He’d rather sign the word for _Yes_ than nod, and if it takes longer? Bifur just doesn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bifur's story was originally supposed to be about him being able to communicate with the neighbourhood children by means of toys, even though the adults were all scared/couldn't understand him. ...So you can have that happy image at least?


	11. Kili: Pass Me By

Kili wears his hair long but his beard short.

Sometimes he cares too little ( _To think a Dwarf raised in this household would dare say such a thing!_ Uncle Thorin thunders); sometimes he cares too much ( _It was just a joke!_ cries the young Man through his bloody nose). Sometimes, he knows, Fili envies him and his ability to let go. Sometimes, he realizes, he envies Fili and his ability to _not_.

At the end of the day though, whether that day was spent caring or whether that day was spent not caring, Kili’s focused on other things. Things he considers far more important (family, friends). Things he considers far more interesting (sparring, annoying people).

Kili wears his hair long but his beard short, because he likes brushing long hair but he doesn’t like braiding beards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know several people who are like Kili, who can just let go, and I really admire them for it. (Maybe a bit of envy is involved too. XD) But there's not as much you can say about chill people, so everybody else in this fic gets problems =P


	12. Dori: Born Wandering

Dori doesn’t how to explain it to them, how to make them understand what he feels. The others laugh at him when he voices his concern.

“You’re just being pessimistic (as always),” Nori rolls his eyes at him. (No, no, it isn’t about that! he protests. I’m being as positive as I can..!)

“You’re just being a mother hen (as always),” Bombur shakes his head. (No, no, it’s not like that! he objects. It’s not that I’m worried about it being _this_ particular location or anything..!)

“I am sorry (as always) if it isn’t good enough but this was the best I could do,” says Thorin, and means it. (No, no, I didn’t mean it like that! he wails; and with this he shuts up because this really isn’t what he meant and he doesn’t want to chisel open cracks of doubt when the others seem so happy.)

It’s not that Dori doesn’t wish to call the Blue Mountains _home_ ; it’s not even that he’s gotten so used to travelling that he’d rather call the road _home_. It’s far more simple than that: _the concept 'home' does not exist within him_. His feet may have stopped moving and his body may have settled down, but Dori was born wandering and his mind cannot kick the habit.

And when the others profess their happiness at settling in the Blue Mountains, Dori wonders what the big deal is. And when the others profess their desire to take back Erebor, Dori continues wondering what the big deal is. He stays and he goes, for kin and for honor and for duty (because those are important), but not _ever_ for _home_ (because that is not).

Dori was born wandering and Dori’s heart continues wandering.


	13. Thorin: Everything

Thorin...

What more can be said about Thorin?

He misses Erebor with every breath, with every inch, with his very _being_.

Thorin misses Erebor despite of, and because of, what he knows about the Dwarves he leads. Thorin knows how eager Gloin is to carry on tradition and Thorin knows how little Ori knows about their past; Thorin knows how difficult learning Khuzdul is for Fili and Thorin knows how difficult communicating with non-Dwarves is for Bifur; Thorin knows how content Balin is to call the Blue Mountains _home_ and Thorin knows how Bombur will only ever consider the Lonely Mountain _home_ and Thorin knows how Dori doesn’t know how to have a _home_ at all; Thorin knows how strange customs bother Oin and Thorin knows how rude stares bother Bofur and Thorin knows how well-spread lies bother Nori and Thorin knows how absolutely nothing of this sort has ever ever bothered Kili; Thorin knows that he and Dwalin are both conjuring up a mirage, but he just needs that mirage _so badly_.

Thorin knows all this and more about his Dwarves and it twists him and bites at him and he doesn’t know how to help one without disrupting the peace of another. And thus Thorin plots of Erebor and he dreams of Erebor and he breathes of Erebor. But it is not homesickness that drives him to reclaim their homeland, it is honor and it is duty and it is kin.

 _Kin_... Guilt stings him and Thorin is helpless to stop it. Which kin’s problems should he consider more important, which kin’s worries should he still; and by doing so, which kin’s dreams should he break? There is no going back and there is no going forward; there is pain either way.

And yet. Despite it all, or because of it all, or perhaps aside from it all, underneath honor and duty and _kin_ , a little strand remains. Throughout his torments and his uncertainties, buried deep underneath, Thorin plain and simply misses Erebor. Thorin misses Erebor with every breath, with every inch, with every...

thing.

In the end, there is no good metaphor for it; the tongue shrivels and dries up. It is impossible to describe this level of emotion, this intensity, not with the most flowery speech the most skilled Elvish poets could dream up. Such a thing sounds false to the ears, creates pretenses when there are none. Dwarves would put it more simply and thus they would put it best:

Thorin misses Erebor.

(with everything)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this, everyone! If you have a few seconds, please leave a comment? Tell me which Dwarf's story you found saddest/most interesting/most relatable/etc.  
> Also, I'm still not sure if this is best read all-in-one-go or chapter-by-chapter (as it was uploaded) so I'll probably be deleting all the little author notes between the chaps, in case anyone ever wants to read it in one go and get a full dose of Dwarf-migration-sadness. xD


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